Souls of Fire, Hearts of Ink
by Anatherin
Summary: The enchanting story of Dustfinger and Roxane, the fire-eater and the minstrel woman. Follow them through all the important moments and beyond. Their first meeting, when Dustfinger gets his scars, and perhaps some suggestions from the readers. :) Rated T for violence in later chapters...Basta really loves his knife. O o (The chapters will get longer. The first is mostly an intro.)


Golden sunlight filtered down into the Outer Courtyard of Ombra Castle. The bright-feathered birds stayed close to their nests on that day, when the air was filled with the scent of cinnamon and the dyer's more foul scent that still lingered on the seller and his wares. It was a market day, and that meant coins in the pockets of the strolling players.

Many of the Motley folk were present that day: tight-rope walkers, actors with feathered and glittering masks. Sootbird the fire-eater was there, though the passersby only stopped briefly to watch him juggle.

The corner of Dustfinger's mouth quirked up in a smile as he walked through the crowd. They sometimes pointed to him, whispering to their neighbors. "There's the real fire-eater," they would say. "He talks to fire, and it listens!" The man in question glanced up at the last rays of sun coming in over the walls. Soon it would be dark enough for his own act, he thought, stopping to free the caged fairies some fool was trying to sell. The blue-skinned creatures danced about him happily for a moment before flying off.

It was then that one of his admirers, a child with her mother, suddenly came running back to cling to the woman's skirts. She tugged on her mother a bit and pointed back to another clearing where Dustfinger knew the players to perform. Their voices were drowned out by the general roar of of the crowd, but there was such light in the child's eyes that Dustfinger dropped the apple core he was finishing off and followed them.

Such a crowd was gathered by the small clearing that Dustfinger had to wonder whether this act was as well-loved as his. Using his arms to push back and swim through the throng of people, he finally broke into the front line of spectators. A rush of music filled his ears with a lively tune.

All these people had come to watch one woman dance, a lady not more than twenty years old. His heart sped up just as the music did.

Her hair was black like a moonless night and gleamed as it followed her swift movements, like a shadow that couldn't quite keep up. The colorful skirt as befitted the Motley folk flared up and twirled with her like a candle flame that waves in the breeze, revealing bare but tanned legs and feet below the knee. Dustfinger stared, hardly realizing that he'd stepped almost into the ring. The woman danced like fire, wild and free and beautiful. She was as commanding as a raging wildfire, dangerous to touch. She was graceful and fragile, like flickering tendrils of flame to be put out with a puff of breath. Her feet hardly seemed to touch the ground, blurring and skipping with the beat of the song, pushing off and kicking up as she leapt.

After a few moments that had seemed like a world outside time, the music slowed and finally stopped. The woman stood tall in the center of the stone-paved clearing, smiling softly at the cheering crowd as she slightly panted. Suddenly, her gaze panned over to where the fire-eater still stood frozen, and their eyes met.

Her eyes were the most beautiful things he had ever seen. More beautiful than the merry flames of his fires, warmer than any blaze they could produce. For a moment her smile widened, and he saw a flash of lovely white teeth before she turned away, her attention caught by a man meaning to congratulate her on the performance. But in that one second, Dustfinger was inexplicably ecstatic about that one smile that was just for him.

Dustfinger never did perform that night. He spent the hours waiting by the castle gate, wishing only to speak to the dark-haired beauty, or even just a glimpse of the woman so full of life like his beloved fire. But even though he watched all the faces pass with eager vigilance, he wouldn't see the minstrel woman again for a long while yet.

* * *

_I know this has been done before, but I'd love to get to the time where Dustfinger gets his scars, and beyond, if I can! So what do you all think? Keep __going?_


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